


Tune in. Turn on. Drop out.

by redisthenewblackington



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Crack Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redisthenewblackington/pseuds/redisthenewblackington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red tricks Lizzie into accompanying him to a huge music festival, and she tries something new and illicit. Lizzington crack!Fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This megacrack fic is for Clara, who helped me conceive of and develop the "plot" (I use the term loosely) for this story. I own nothing. She owns nothing. There's a good amount of straying from canon. It's perhaps enough to be considered AU, but I'll let you be the judge of that.
> 
> ♤♤♤♤♤*****-----*****-----*****♤♤♤♤♤
> 
> Please share your thoughts, good or bad. Am I doing alright so far? Do you have any questions or suggestions? I welcome and appreciate all of them.

Chapter One.

 

To be lonely is a habit, like smoking or taking drugs, and I've quit them both, but man was it rough. And now I am tired. It just made me tired.

(from Acid Tongue, by Jenny Lewis)

 

*****-----*****-----*****-----*****

you don't know me, but I'm famous  
you might even like me  
given a chance  
I'm nervous and I'm shaking  
and I am toasted and I'm still baking  
from this drug that gives this evening  
such romance

(from Opium, by Jump, Little Children. Despite the misleading title, it's about an ill-fated, adventurous acid trip)

 

*****-----*****-----*****-----*****-----*****-----*****

"I'll never stop hating this elevator. Seriously, who chose the yellow paint?" Liz was having an awful day, and Red, brimming with delight, seemed to be taking every opportunity to make it worse. 

"I'll talk to Harold about painting it for you. How about red? You just LOVE red, don't you, Lizzie?" He was practically singing the obnoxious comment. Only Red calls AD Cooper by his first name. He's the only one that calls her Lizzie, too. 

In moments like this, she cannot believe how attracted she is to this man. If he ever knew... ugh. He'd probably toy with her relentlessly. 

Oh wait. He already does. 

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie. Why so cross, sweetheart?" He slowly took several steps forward, so he stood a few feet in front of her, and languidly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hips shifting as well. He pulled a small microfiber cloth from his pocket and cleaned the lenses of his sunglasses before putting them on. 

Liz was staring at his ass, of course, lost in thought. She licked her suddenly-dry lips. What a day to forget her Burts Bees peppermint lip balm... Without warning, Red quickly turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. 

Liz panicked and averted her eyes, but it was too late. He saw. He knew she was checking him out. The fact that she tried to hide it made it even worse. Red loudly sucked in a deep breath, pushing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. His lips slowly curled into an unsettling, cheshire cat grin.

He said nothing, however, and when the elevator doors finally opened, he slowly ambled out, swinging his hips like a Victoria's Secret angel on the catwalk. Calling him "cocky" would be an understatement, but with an ass and a swagger like that, he had every right to be. 

Liz wasn't in the mood for it. She briskly walked off in another direction, without even bothering to say goodbye. Her phone began to ring before she got to her car. Liz didn't have to look to know that it was Nick's Pizza, so she chose to ignore it. All she wanted was a little peace and quiet. An evening to herself. A bottle of wine, but not another. Only one! Why couldn't Red just. give. her. that? 

But because it was Red, The Concierge of Relentless Fuckery, he kept on calling. After the fifth call, Liz realized that if she didn't answer, he'd just come over, let himself into her home, and refuse to leave until she listened to whatever he had to say. With the loudest of sighs, she relented, and answered the phone. 

"What the hell, Reddington?" was the nicest greeting she could muster. 

"LIZZIE! OH THANK GOODNESS YOU'RE OKAY! I thought something terrible must have happened. You usually pick up after three rings."

Ass. 

Liz made a mental note to start answering her phone in a less predictable fashion. 

"Can I help you with something, Red?" 

"I can practically hear your eyes rolling," he replied, in a cloying, singsong tone. 

She said nothing, hoping he would take the hint and spit it out. 

"Coachella. We're leaving in two hours."

"No, we aren't." 

"My people have located The Horseman's brother, Vishal. He's obsessed with Neko Case, and has been following her tour bus for several months now. Her next stop is Coachella. I'm more of a Jenny Lewis man, myself. You know, from Rilo Kiley? She's their lead vocalist, but she's done a bunch of solo work as well. Have you heard Acid Tongue? It's been stuck in my head for hours now. We'll have to listen to it on the plane. It will change your life, Lizzie."

He's trying to distract and bore her with excessive verbosity. It's one of his preferred go-to manipulation tactics, getting people to agree to do things against their own interests. He couches a request or demand with either real or made up anecdotes, and TA DAAA! Victory, for him.

Not this time, Reddington. 

"I don't see why you need me. You have Dembe, and plenty of re-enforcements to call upon as needed." 

Red adopted his firm, staccato, business voice. "That's not going to work." 

"Sorry. It will have to, because I'm not going."

He softened, hoping she'd follow suit. "Lizzie, if you need some time alone, you can have it, on my plane. It's a nice, long flight. You can spend it sleeping, or reading, or even drinking that bottle of wine that you've been thinking about all day. Don't deny it. In fact, you can drink mine. Save yours for another night."

"Red..." 

It was working. He could tell. Now, for the final blow... "I've already cleared it with Harold. He wants you there. Of course, I could request Meera's help. You see, Lizzie, Vishal is a notorious lady's man, and he always wants what he can't have. If I show up with a beautiful woman, it gives me an edge. He may be too busy flirting to properly guard his brother's interests. I'd rather bring you, but Meera's also very beautiful, and she's more experienced..." 

It was a dirty trick, and Red knew it, but it wasn't his first time using a Blacklister's contacts to score a date with Lizzie. 

"Well, if that's what Cooper wants..." Oh, to hell with Cooper. There's no way in hell she'd want Meera taking her place, especially if she had to pose as Red's girlfriend. She really IS beautiful. Even her accent is beautiful. To top it off, she's single, too. 

Liz was still reeling from Tom's betrayal, and she wasn't ready to move on. Not yet. Even if she was, no way she could ever hope to foster a relationship with Raymond Reddington. 

Her jealousy may have been cloaked in cognitive dissonance, but that didn't stop her from turning green from time to time. 

"Splendid! Dembe and I will be there at 8."

She sighed. "Alright.. See you then."

"Yes. Oh, and Lizzie?"

"Hmm?"

"Trey's going to be there."

"Trey?"

"Anastasio. He's performing tomorrow. I know how much you loved Phish back in high school, but you've never seen them live, have you?"

Of course he knew about Phish. Sometimes it seemed like he knew everything, much to her annoyance, but Red wasn't entirely right this time, and Liz had no intention of clueing him in. 

"No, I haven't." Easy peasy! "Sam thought I'd catch a contact high from the cloud of pot smoke at a Phish show, and then end up doing something I'd regret." 

"Well, who knows what you'll do tomorrow? I can only assure you that you won't regret any of it."

Always those blanketed sexual comments. That's what that was, right? 

"One more thing, Lizzie. We'll have to dress the part. Vishal doesn't know either of us. He's familiar with my work, but who isn't? We've never met, however, and we won't be telling him who we are, either. He'll almost certainly be under the influence of something, and that could be adventagous for us, but it doesn't mean we'll get away with any slip-ups. Tomorrow, you're a carefree concert-goer. No FBI black. No Chicos or Ann Taylor. Do you need me to bring the appropriate attire for you?"

Liz could only imagine how Red would want to dress her, but she knew how people dressed at Coachella. She'd describe it as hippie-meets-hipster-meets-1990s-garage-grunge. Fortunately, Liz already had the right duds. She'd have to dig into a rubbermaid storage bin that was on the top shelf of the closet in her guest room (formerly the nursery of her would-be adopted baby), but at least she had them. The clothes were vacuum-packed, so they'd be wrinkled. Oh well. She could worry about that later. 

"No, don't. I've got it." The words came out a bit too quickly. 

He knew it would rub her the wrong way, but he had to be certain. "Are you sure?"

"Red, how about this? I'll bring several outfits, and you can choose." She huffed. Weren't they about to hang up a minute ago? He always pulls this crap. 

He laughed. "This is gonna be a gas!"

Lizzie couldn't help picturing the expression on his face as he said it. That grin was secretly one of her favorites. Cheeky and shamelessly alight. 

Liz rolled her eyes at herself, annoyed for even having that thought, and hung up the phone.

*****-----*****-----*****-----*****

Approximately two and a half hours later, it was wheels-up time. Liz found herself situated in the back of Red's jet, as far away from him as possible. Despite still being thoroughly annoyed, a tiny piece of Liz was secretly excited. The last time she'd gone to a concert, it was in the basement of a smelly dive bar. It was packed from wall-to-wall, brazenly violating several of the city's fire codes. That was years ago. The more she thought about it, the more she was looking forward to the next day. She decided to make the most out of the situation. Whatever Red says, as soon as they finish up with Vishal, they'll be staying to enjoy the show. She'd been under an unhealthy amount of stress ever since the day Red surrendered at J. Edgar Hoover. Allowing herself to have a good time would surely be beneficial to her well-being.

Hell, it might even be necessary.


	2. Chapter Two

Just press it to your skin  
And let the fun begin  
The music in your throat will make you scream

(Jump, Little Children)

 

₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩

 

They had no trouble finding Vishal. He was exactly where Red thought he would be, behaving as if he were having the very best day of his life. His so-adored Neko Case hadn't even performed yet. Red stuck two fingers through the belt loops of the frayed denim cutoffs that he chose for Liz to wear, pulling her along closely as they approached The Horseman's misfit sibling. When Liz gently tried to extract his fingers, he allowed it. 

She made the mistake of momentarily feeling victorious. 

Red leaned in to whisper into her ear, "Remember Lizzie, we're together. Try not to look so repulsed." 

Repulsed? Her actions may have suggested otherwise, but Liz was nowhere near repulsed. Maybe she shouldn't have taken Red up on that wine offer. 

Before she could respond, Red shoved a hand into her back pocket, pulled her toward him, and crushed his lips against hers, effectively smothering her involuntary gasp. Instinctively, Liz brought one hand up to the nape up his neck, holding him hostage while she pressed her tongue between his lips. She felt him briefly tense before responding in kind. 

Red couldn't help recalling the way he described Lizzie to Sam. "Volatile," he said. "Hard, then soft, then hard again." Anytime she felt like he may predict her actions or moods, she made a conscious decision to do the opposite. Sometimes, that made things difficult for Red. 

This time? It just made things... hard.

When they broke apart, panting, Lizzie took both of Red's hands in hers, squeezing as hard as she could to ensure that she still had his full attention. They searched each other's faces, both suddenly desperate for discernable truth. Neither succeeded. 

Only a few yards away, Vishal was watching them. 

"Ready?" Liz asked, breaking the silence, but not the tension.

Red nodded. "Just follow my lead. And Lizzie?" 

"Hm?" 

"This moment... We'll need to discuss it later." His voice had plummeted to its lowest octave, and Liz could have sworn she felt the vibration of his vocal chords dancing in waves across her overheated skin. It was achingly erotic.

Did he already know that? Was he doing it on purpose? If so, what was his motive? Was he being sincere, or was it just another cheap manipulation? 

She needs to stop trying to profile him. It was tempting, given the myriad inaccuracies in his dossier.

They stopped right beside Vishal, ignoring his presence at first, hoping they wouldn't scare him off. After several minutes, Red turned to face him. Vishal's eyes were all black. No iris. No cornea. Just dilated pupils. "Have you ever been to Neko Case show? She's incredible." Liz smiled. It was the perfect "in" for a conversation. Vishal was all too happy to gush about all the reasons that she was the very best singer/songwriter ever. 

Red managed to gradually redirect Vishal toward discussing his childhood, gathering bits and pieces of info in hopes of assembling them later. He made sure to chime in several times, proclaiming, "Oh my god. Me too!" both when it was true and even when it wasn't. Within minutes, Vishal happily proclaimed that Jack (Red's spontaneously-chosen cover name) was his "brother from another mother, man." Then he began to ramble again, this time about how every person is connected with every other person in the world. He added that all languages even sound the same. If only we knew how to listen properly, everyone would be fluent in everything. All people are connected to every plant, as well, because they fuel us with oxygen and consume the co2 that we exhale. 

This meaning of "tripping balls" was just redefined by this man.

A sudden, mischevious smile lit up Vishal's face. "I have something for you. It's something I love, and you'll love it too." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a chunk of folded up aluminum foil.

The hell? Lizzie looked up at Red, her eyes requesting answers. As Vishal carefully unfolded the foil and extracted what looked like a strip of tiny square-shaped stickers, Liz suddenly understood. He ripped off six squares and gave them to Red. 

Acid.

Red canted his head in Liz's direction. "So, sweetheart, what do you say? Shall we?"

In response, Liz grabbed the paper from Red's hand, ripped off three hits, and stuck them under her tongue. 

Red beamed. 'Volatile', he thought again. "Alrighty then. Let's do this."

Liz stuck her hand into Red's back pocket and squeezed. He smirked. 

"If you can do it, Red, then surely I can too." 

Was she talking about her hand in his pocket, or the acid? 

Definitely both. 

"So Red.... Now what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a short chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it just the same. Thank you for reading, and as always, reading comments makes my day. (:


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter 3

This is still for Clara, but she'll now be sharing it with Heather, who was of tremendous assistance for this chapter. I still own nothing. Let's get crackin', shall we?

"Tune in" meant interact harmoniously with the world around you - externalize, materialize, express your new internal perspectives.   
\--Timothy Leary

₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩

They stuck around and chatted with Vishal for another half hour. It would have been rude to just dose and dip out. When they parted ways, Red gave Vishal a bear hug and thanked him once more. 

As they strolled through the crowd, Red toyed with the fringe on Liz's shorts. Despite being done with Vishal, she allowed it, not wanting to make waves. They weren't even tripping yet. "Permission to continue being this handsy all day?" Red asked, brightly.

Liz pretended to contemplate the question for a moment before answering, "I don't know. Maybe. We'll see how I feel in an hour."

"Do you know what to expect, Lizzie? Do you understand that sharing this experience could forever re-color the very fabric of our relationship? I wish we could have had this conversation before we took it."

"My jaw feels weird and tight." 

"That's normal. It should go away soon. Did you hear what I said though, about how this could change us?" His voice was edging closer to concern. 

"I did, but I was ignoring you because I don't want to have this conversation. That's actually why I took it so quickly."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Red replied, and that wouldn't work for him. Understanding Lizzie had long been one of his top priorities. 

Liz detected the edge in his voice, and something clicked. They'd have to have the discussion that she wanted to avoid, but she couldn't admit her true feelings. Coming up with anxiety would bode poorly for their trip. She just needed to reassure him. It wouldn't be too hard, would it? And after that? The fun shall begin! The tension in her jaw was already accompanied by a faint, tingling sensation coursing through everywhere else. 

The real question was, would it be possible to reassure him and simultaneously guard her heart? How could she go about finding the middle ground? 

Her eyes widened when the solution dawned on her. 

Use one of his own manipulation tactics. Filibust for freedom. Sterilize the truth, textbook-style, to the extent that it's unrecognizable. 

"I'll admit that to an extent, dosing was a rash decision. It was partially fueled by a desire to escape the stress and tension that's held me prisoner since the day you walked into my life and dropped to your knees. I hate to put it so roughly, but Red, that's how I feel." 

Red nodded but said nothing, actively listening and clinging to her every word. Perhaps he's tingling too.

"I read The Electric Kool-aid Acid Test in high school. You know, by Tom Wolfe? It was riveting." She had no doubt that a bibliophile like Red had devoured the book, as well. He's probably read every Tom Wolfe book, actually. 

"One thing I took from it was that LSD, while obviously being a recreational adventure, can also be used, even unwittingly, as a powerful psychological and emotional tool."

Red sighed, somewhat disappointed. Using a shared trip to dig in and profile him? It was probably the last thing he wanted to hear. 

As if she could read his thoughts, she continued, "Are you familiar with the term 'intersubjectivity'?" She didn't wait for a response before she went on, "Intersubjectivity has at least ten different definitions, depending on the context in which it's used. A few can be applied to this situation. It's the process of psychological energy moving between two or more subjects. We each have our own perspective and understanding in every situation, and it guides us in different directions and prevents us from ever truly seeing eye-to-eye. With intersubjectivity, personal subjectivity goes out the window, and perspectives merge and meld and go on in the same direction." 

Though her words were accurate and conceived over a textbook, Liz began to wonder if she was rambling like Vishal. This level of verbosity was uncharacteristic of her. It wasn't the acid talking, but it was almost certainly pulling the strings. Liz suddenly felt overwhelmed by the desire for Red to really and truly understand what she was saying. She stopped walking and turned to look him in the eye, noting that his pupils were glassy and dilating, though not yet the size of Vishal's. She wondered how he was feeling. Was it starting to kick in for him too? He was chewing his cheek, as he does when contemplating something serious. She felt reassured that whether or not he understood, at least he was still listening. 

"With intersubjectivity between two people, the psychological weight of one person comes to bear on the mind of the other, thereby creating an intersubjective experience that would otherwise be strictly solitary. In that context, a prime example is requited love, because requited love implies a mutual feeling of care and affection, among other things..."

She paused for a moment, certain that she still had more to say, but unsure of how to articulate it. 

"Red, I know that this can forever re-color our relationship, but it's my hope that it will be for the better." They had stopped walking again, and she hadn't even noticed. 

Suddenly, Liz was enveloped by Red's strong arms, and it felt heavenly, as if she were melting into him. She welcomed the heady scent of his aftershave as it invaded her nose and lungs. His hands slid underneath the back of her shirt, seeking direct contact with her skin.   
Her jaw dropped when Red lowered his mouth to the crook of her neck to place just a single kiss. 

When Liz finally found her voice, she exalted, "If you still want to be handsy, Red, permission granted."

₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩₩

What started off as an annoying work assignment had magically turned into a psychedelic pleasurefest that even Bacchus himself would admire.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Red and Liz are going to have a BLAST in this chapter. Both will sing the praises of LSD because they're having fun with it! With that said, please note that while I do condone the occasional use of LSD by sane and informed adults, I'm absolutely NOT advocating its use. This is just a silly work of fanfic. It's meant to be humorous. Furthermore, I'm also not claiming to be an authority on the actual experience of tripping on acid, so if you read this and find yourself thinking, "This girl is an idiot. Acid is NOT like this," then feel free to tell me, if you must, but like I said, I'm not claiming to be an authority on the subject. If you want to learn about acid, check out Erowid. If you want to read some funny Lizzington nonsense, you're in the right place! (:

Chapter Four

 

"Turn on" meant go within to activate your neural and genetic equipment. Become sensitive to the many and various levels of consciousness and the specific triggers that engage them. Drugs were one way to accomplish this end.  
\--Timothy Leary

 

One hour later, Red and Liz were sitting cross-legged in the grass, facing each other. Both were still coming up, and wouldn't peak for a few more hours. 

"Lizzie, do you want to know my favorite thing about tripping?" Red asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "Everyone puts far too much emphasis on the visual hallucinations. Don't get me wrong, because I like them too. For example, right now, your hair is paisley, and it's unbelievably beautiful, but--"

"PAISLEY!!! What? Since when?" Liz interjected.

"Since forever, I think. I don't know, but I just noticed it. What I like best is how acid energizes my brain. That's my favorite part. Seeing things differently is fun, but thinking about them differently is just incredible. It's a wonder that nothing else can do this to you. I don't know how anyone can live an entire lifetime without experiencing this at least once."

"Red, I'm so happy that this is happening right now. We're really doing this. You know, I wouldn't dream of doing it with anyone else."

His eyebrows waggled and, along with his eyes, slowly converged at the center of his face. Liz giggled at suddenly-cyclops Red, and he asked, "Are we still talking about acid?"

It took Liz a moment to understand what he meant. "God, Red, does your mind EVER leave the gutter?"

His grin spread beyond the rest of his face and he replied, "Not if I can help it!" 

The tension in her jaw had not subsided, but it wasn't bothering her anymore. Her smile may very well have become permanently affixed. 

"Try not to let your eyes focus on any one thing, Lizzie. Just relax and unfocus. Let your eyes see everything at once. Are you doing it?"

"Uh huh. Yes, I think so."

"What do you see, Lizzie? How does the world around you look now?"

"Patterns. Patterns everywhere!"

"YES! That's it. You're doing it perfectly."

"Red, look! I'm not thinking like a cop! Aren't you proud of me? NOTHING IS LINEAR!"

Red shook his head and chuckled. "Always, Sweetheart, but I'm not tripping hard enough to SEE you think."

Liz leaned forward and pressed one finger to his lips. "Shhh! Don't ruin this by being an asshole." She was still grinning and giggling.

Red winked and his tongue snaked out to lick her finger. 

"HEY!" She yelped, pulling her hand back. 

That's when it occurred to Red that as Lizzie's trip guide, it was his duty to ensure that she was cared for physically as well as psychologically. He abruptly stood and reached for her hands to help her up. Without even asking why, she readily gave them to him. "I'm thirsty. How about you? This wouldn't be a good time for us to be dehydrated." 

Liz nodded but didn't say anything. She appeared to be in deep thought, so he waited, very interested to hear what she would say next. They stood only inches apart, and Liz was even still holding onto his hands. 

Red couldn't help feeling hopeful. Maybe she wanted to kiss him. He definitely wanted to kiss her. Lizzie filled a space in his chest that had been dark and empty for twenty years. He may enjoy toying with her occasionally, but he loved her. Has loved her. Loves her. 

And here she stood, still holding his hands, and Red could no longer wait. Emboldened by both the LSD and lust, he roughly pulled her forward and his mouth lunged for hers. There could be no mistaking his motives this time. Vishal was long gone. This kiss belonged only to them. Lizzie took what he offered and gave back to him in kind, dropping his hands and reaching around to grab him, fiercly seeking purchase of every part of him that she could reach. 

Desiring the highest sensory experience possible, Lizzie decided to open her eyes. She wanted to see him as well as she could feel, hear, and taste him. How long was this kiss? Neither could have said. Even time itself was no longer a linear progression. 

"We need snowcones," Liz blurted out after their mouths parted.  
  
"Is that a word salad? Did I miss something?" Red asked, more than a little curious. 

"I'm thirsty for a snowcone." The words felt bizarre on her tongue. Is that something you can thrist for?

"Oh. Alright then. Let's see if we can find a snowcone stand."

"I saw someone eating one earlier. I'd like to explore the area anyway. We haven't even seen every stage yet!"

"Let's get some water to hold us over until we find the snowcone fairy." 

"Was THAT a word salad?" 

"Oh! No. I was just trying to be cute. Is it working?"

Liz reached over and took Red's sunglasses from his face and put them on herself, smiling widely. 

Red smirked, "Who's trying to be cute now?"

"I think we're both pretty cute."

"Yes. The cutest."

"Can we take a picture, Red? I want to see what I look like."

"You look beautiful."

Liz wasn't listening. She was staring intently at her smartphone and swiping her fingers across the screen. 

She sighed. "Nevermind. All the icons are trailing around and I can't figure it out."

"Then take my word for it. You look beautiful, Lizzie, like a goddess. But even if you could figure out your phone's camera, the photo wouldn't look like you. Not really, at least. It would look like Jackson Pollack, Pablo Picasso, and Georgia O'Keefe collaborated on your portrait. Now, don't get me wrong. It would STILL be beautiful, but not what you expect."

She huffed and tossed her phone back into her purse.

As they strolled through the crowd, both Red and Liz paused to point out everything that caught their interests. This resulted in taking a tremendous amount of time just to get to the opposite side of the festival. That didn't matter. Neither noticed, anyway. 

Several people stopped to befriend them on the way as well. Lizzie found that hilarious. Everyone was always attracted to Red, no matter where they went. On more than one occasion, Liz had marveled at this observation. She always thought his suits were mostly to blame. Red's wardrobe was worthy of awe, but it wasn't so much the clothes themselves as it was how well they fit, and how sexy he looked wearing them. It was almost criminal. He probably wouldn't even be on the FBI's Most Wanted list without Zegna or Bespoke.

Today, however, he looked like a totally different man, and not because of the acid. His outfit made him blend in seamlessly with everyone else. He wore khaki shorts, an old Bob Dylan concert t-shirt, and Birkenstock sandals. Lizzie never thought she'd see Red's toes. The very idea was laughable.

The only other explanation was that he's simply magnetic, in a very literal sense. Maybe his blood was magnetized by a tremendously high iron count, causing a physical pull that subconsciously attracted everyone to him. 

No. That didn't even make sense, did it? No. 

They forgot about the water, but one of their new friends pointed them toward the snowcone stand. The selection of flavors blew Red's mind. The amount of time that it took him to choose a flavor would have been embarrassing if they weren't tripping. Liz based her choice soley on color, because she wanted her snowcone to match her headband. 

Snowcones in hand, they returned to the sea of concert-goers again. 

"Red, do you mind if we find a nice, quiet place to sit?" Liz wasn't at all tired. She just wanted to be able to talk to Red. The sounds of the crowd and the music were converging into an unpleasant and distracting roar. 

It was also preferable to be handsy in private, but she kept that thought to herself. 

Red leaned in and with a very throaty whisper, spoke into her ear, "Oh Lizzie, I thought you'd never ask..." He took a huge bite of his snowcone and moaned. "This! Oh my god. This was the best idea ever. Lizzie, guess what flavor I got." He took another bite and kissed her with an open mouth, letting her taste it from his tongue. 

Liz canted her head, trying but failing to be coy, and replied, "I don't know, Red.." She burst into laughter. "You'll have to let me try it again!" 

He was all too happy to oblige. 

"It tastes.. it tastes like every flavor, ever, and... YOU."

"Hmmm... perhaps I'm what tastes like every flavor ever?" His eyebrows arched. "Which one is your favorite?"  


"I'll need to isolate the variables!" Liz stepped behind him and grabbed his shirt collar, yanking it down a bit, so she could taste the newly-exposed skin, free of snowcone flavoring. "Let me try right here... FOR SCIENCE!" Red gasped when her teeth gently scraped against the nape of his neck. "Mmm... you taste like the ocean. Did you know that? So familiar.. and satisfying, somehow, except now I'm even more thirsty than I was before. I think I like Red flavor the best."

"I'm flattered, but you haven't even tried the best part of me, Lizzie." 

Red had an idea. "Do you know what else I SO LOVE about tripping? I love the feeling of grandiosity. Every idea is just the best idea ever. I've had about a dozen epiphanies already. I think you'll like the one I just had."

Liz whined a little. "Are you talking about deep-throating again? We haven't even found a place TO BE yet."

"Yes!" Red exclaimed. "Exactly! I think we're intersubjecting or whatever you called it!"

"Huh?"

Red crouched down beside her. "Here, climb up on my shoulders."

"Huh?"

"Climb up on my shoulders!" 

"Is this.. some kind of sexual thing?" Clearly, she was confused. Intersubjectivity, her ass. 

"What? No! But it's good to know you're thinking creatively. Perhaps later? Anyway, I was going to suggest that you find a place for us to go. You'll have a better view from my shoulders. Although, if you sat on them facing in the OTHER direction, then I believe that I would have the better view. Ah! Another epiphany. You know, I've always suspected that you long to splash around in the gutter with me, Lizzie. Maybe roll around a bit. Do some somersaults..." 

Liz had been lightly threading her fingers through Red's hair since the moment he crouched down beside her, and it felt HEAVENLY. Even HE had no earthly idea what he was babbling about anymore. 

"Your KNEE, Red! You can't support my weight." 

"I beg your pardon?"

Liz huffed. "Don't think I haven't noticed your gait. It's uneven. Your knee."

"Ouch. You've been witholding observations?"

"Allllll the time."

"It might not work as well as it used to, but it seldom causes me pain. CLIMB ON." Red knew she would give in. 

"Oh, screw it." Liz carefully perched herself on his shoulders, and Red brought his hands up to her thighs to steady her as he rose up to his feet. 

"RED!!! Wow! This is awesome. I'm never ever ever getting off!"

"Oh... You'll get off, all right, and more than once. Don't worry." She was just making it too easy for him to go there. He had to! 

She ignored his comment but secretly delighted in it. "There's a hill, Red." She pointed. "I think we'll be able to hear the music from stage three, but we'll be pretty far from the crowd noise. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds perfect. Let's go." Red began walking in the direction that Liz had pointed. 

"RED! STOP! I WANT TO WALK!" She enjoyed the view, but somehow, Red seemed too far away, from her position on his shoulders. She also didn't quite believe him about his knee not causing pain. 

Truthfully, Red liked having her on his shoulders. He especially liked the firm grip that he still had on her thighs, but he knew that Lizzie would screech until he let her down, so he slowly crouched low enough for her to safely hop off. 

Liz turned to face him and exclaimed brightly, "That was fun!" Her cheeks were just a bit flushed. Red instantly found himself wishing he could memorize that look on her face. She was sunshine and rainbows and absolute perfection. 

The moment was interrupted by a shrill, ringing sound. Both were briefly bewildered. "Oh! My phone is ringing!" Lizzie yelped. She stuck her hand into her purse, fervently digging around for the offensive object. "Ah ha! Victory!" She brought the screen up to her face, fighting to focus on the caller ID.

"Shit! Red! IT'S COOPER!"


	5. chapter five

"Drop out" suggested an active, selective, graceful process of detachment from involuntary or unconscious commitments. "Drop Out" meant self-reliance, a discovery of one's singularity, a commitment to mobility, choice, and change.   
\--Timothy Leary

 

Red snatched the phone from Liz's hand, holding his finger to his lips, indicating that she should remain quiet and let him do the talking. 

"Harold! Wonderful to hear from you. How's the wife? Will you wish her a happy birthday, for me? I know it was last week, but I do hope she'll forgive me for not sending a card. I've been so busy chasing down all of these bad guys with agent Keen."

Cooper ignored him. "Reddington, put Keen on."

"I would, Harold, but she's currently in one of those dreadful portable latrines. Like a gentleman, I'm holding her purse so she wouldn't have to carry it inside." Red gave Liz a thumbs up sign and shouted, "Lizzie! Harold is on the phone!"

Liz had collapsed into a fit of giggles on the ground at Red's feet. Gasping for breath, she yelled loudly enough for Cooper to hear, "That corndog must have disagreed with me. Tell him I'll be in here awhile!" Guffawing, she wrapped her arms around Red's legs and buried her face into the back of his knees, inadvertently causing them to buckle. Red fell over backwards, on top of Liz. She clamped her palm over her mouth in a vain attempt to squelch her howling laughter. 

Red managed to hold onto the phone as he rolled over on his side, oblivious to whatever pain he should have felt. Liz took the opportunity to crawl on top of him, rolling him onto his back again and hovering as she straddled his hips and pressed his shoulders into the grass. 

"I told her to order one of the vegetarian options, but you know how agent Keen loathes to follow my recommendations. I'm surprised that she even let me hold her purse."

"Did you get any intel from your guy? Have you even found him yet?" Cooper was more than a little annoyed. 

Red's reply came out cloying, "Yes Harold, and agent Keen will tell you all about it when we're back in DC." 

Liz was amazed that Red could steady his voice and "talk straight" so well. Or did he only sound steady to her? Enough of that! She leaned forward and latched onto his neck with her mouth, employing suction that was sure to leave a mark for several days. 

He raised his voice again, "Lizzie, are you sure you're alright in there?" 

"Yes! Leave me alone, Red!" she howled back.

"I guess she just can't help playing with fire..." Red was beginning to struggle, losing his focus on the conversation. He tried but failed to shoot her a menacing glare. 

Liz began slowly inching one hand down Red's chest until she reached his navel, and pressed her thumb into it, causing his bleary eyes to momentarily roll back as he sharply inhaled. 

"We'll probably stay the night and travel back tomorrow when she's well again." Red used his free hand to slap her ass, and hard. She moaned and sank her teeth into his shoulder. 

FINALLY Red hung up the phone and tossed it aside. He grabbed her hips, pulled her down tightly, and didn't let go when she reflexively rocked against him. 

"Jesus, Raymond!" Liz hissed, shocked by his hardness and the sensations that seemed to radiate between their bodies and through their clothes, as if they weren't wearing any at all. She couldn't will herself to stop. 

"Oooo, say that again." He implored, through gritted teeth. 

"Raymond.." she gasped, shuddering against his chest, just before she suddenly went boneless and collapsed on top of him. 

"Lizzie, did you just..?" 

She nodded vigorously into his neck. "How did you..?" She trailed, completely stunned. "I mean, I'm surprised that you can still.."

"Been awhile, sweetheart?" Red asked, thoroughly pleased with himself. "And just so you know, it takes more than a little LSD to ah.. keep me down. We should try to get to that hill." 

"Are you sure? You don't need me to..." She didn't want to make things difficult or uncomfortable for him. Shouldn't he expect some reciprocation? 

"Oh, I'm okay, for now. God, Lizzie, you're on fire." 

When Liz looked up, she saw more than a few pairs of eyes settled on them, but she was tripping too hard to discern how many. She had forgotten that they weren't alone. 

"Well Red, if you're good, then I am too. Let's go." 

"Oh, so I'm Red again, huh?" He pretended to be hurt. They clambered to their feet. 

Liz slid one hand into his back pocket, squeezed, and said, "If you want me to call you Raymond again, you know exactly what to do."

Indeed, he did.

They managed to walk to the hill more quickly than their last little excursion. They didn't speak much along the way, as they were both still thinking about what had just happened. The word "MORE" remained perched in the forefront of their minds. 

Liz briefly entertained the worry that she had made a huge mistake, and that Red would never let her live it down. As if he sensed her sudden paranoia, Red reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, lacing his fingers in between hers. Liz looked down at their joined hands, and her vision rapidly tunneled. The periphery faded, and the distance from her shoulder to their hands seemed to stretch out, and she felt an immediate loss. Red was too far away. She stopped walking, and Red turned to face her, cupping her cheek with his free hand. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, sighing. 

When their eyes locked, Liz was overcome by awareness of him. It transcended his physicality. She could feel what he felt, could see the way he saw her. 

Whether or not she really was on fire, Red burned for her. This was no mistake. Her only mistake was not seeing it sooner. 

Intersubjectivity! YES. This was exactly what she wanted. 

Red's eyes lit up at the smile that slowly bloomed from ear-to-ear across Liz's cheeks. Overcome by their mutually intense feelings, Red roughly enveloped her with his arms, pulling her flush up against himself. His voice rumbled from low in his chest, and she could feel as well hear it as his hot breath blew against the crook of her neck. "Do you even know how much I love you?" 

Liz bit back a groan in order to speak. "I do today." 

"But will you, tomorrow?" he countered. 

Without deliberation, she replied, "I'll always know, Raymond."

He'd never tire of hearing his real name from her lips. 

*****-----*****-----*****-----*****-----

On the hill, they bummed a cigarette from a random passerby, and decided to share it. Red blew smoke rings and practiced the french inhale, which he had yet to master. He was poking his bottom lip out too far, and it made him look like a pouting baby. Liz wasted no time telling him so, which prompted him to flare his nostrils and shoot a stream of smoke directly into her face. It seemed like an inordinate amount. She likened him to a dragon. 

"Ah, much better." Being a dragon seemed to please him. Liz tried to commit the moment to her memory. She thought it would be hilarious to bring up the next time he smoked a cigar with her. 

Several shirtless, tattooed young men walked past them. Their skin reminded Liz of something she wanted to try. ART! LSD is supposed to make the creative juices flow easily. "Where can we get some paint, Red?"

"Sweetheart, I have no idea. Can't we just stay here? Why do you need paint?" Apparently, she had forgotten that Red isn't a mind-reader. 

"You know that famous study from the 50's, where an artist was given a high dose of LSD and asked to draw a series of self portraits? They started off normal, but became increasingly bizarre. I want to give it a try." She felt like she wasn't explaining it very well, but Red seemed to know what she was talking about.

"I think I saw a red sharpie in your purse earlier. Will that work?"

"Oh yeah!" She seemed very excited. "But what will I draw on? I don't have any paper, Red!"

"Draw on me," he suggested, divesting himself of his Dylan t-shirt in one fluid motion. It seemed like he was just waiting for an excuse to take it off. "Will this work?"

Oh yes! Perhaps a little too well. Liz only smiled and nodded, her eyes unabashedly drinking in his exposed torso. She'd seen him topless before, but only once, when she caught him undressing with his bedroom door open, incorrectly assuming she was asleep in her own room. At the time, she was equally curious and terrified, and an involuntary gasp gave her away. They had a very frank discussion about the scars, and how he got them. 

She knew what they meant, even then.

Lizzie had longed to see them again, ever since, but this was her first opportunity. She sat down on the ground and pulled her legs apart, patting the grass in front of her, encouraging him to sit between them. Red happily obliged. While Liz rifled through her purse, seeking the red sharpie, Red took the opportunity to lightly skim his hands up her legs. He started at her ankles and by the time he reached her thighs, Liz had forgotten what she was looking for. When his hands started heading in the opposite direction, she tossed the purse aside and reached down to still his hands before they made it to her knees. She wrapped her arms around him, gently raking her fingers through the hair on his chest. Her head rolled forward, and she kissed her way from his shoulder, up to his ear lobe, relishing in the taste of his hot, salty skin. She suddenly recalled what he had said earlier, about how she hadn't tried the best part of him yet, and she desperately wanted to try it.   
Her name from his lips broke Liz from her reverie. She found that her hands were skimming under the waistband of his shorts, and she hadn't even realized it. Of course, Red noticed.

"Don't assume I'm not enjoying this, but weren't you going to draw on me?" He asked, not witholding his laughter. 

"What?" Liz replied, "Oh. Yes." She reached for her purse and easily found the sharpie. God, he could be so frustrating! 

She set to work on sketching a crimson ocean sunset that spanned his entire back. It didn't take long for her to become engrossed in the process, despite the contented sighs and purrs that Red made no effort to withhold. Liz even incorporated his scars into the landscape, and they became the ocean's rippling water. The sharpie danced across his back, in time with the music, and Red simply melted into nothing under her artful hands.


End file.
